Response to Excuse 4
"Time Out!" called in basketball,
Football (American Style), and Volleyball
to discuss new strategies, or take a breath
from some exciting play, say the coaches
and the players deeply, so involved.
But, time out from LOVE?
That means to take a freakin' break
because some one or other has no clue
of what he must or wants to do
about his ideologies
or idiotic idiosyncracies.
Yet, you admit that I am yours and you are mine
(a sense of possessiveness which I don't underwrite)
and you are still the same bright, witty, loving entity
which I have loved near all my life, it seems, eternity,
and I agree we need some time,
but not apart,
since all alone, it leaves me vacant, sad, and dry
for which your absence causes me to cry
and do you care
that I am bare
with no one here to share
why?
Or do you still adhere
to pulling out your loaded gun
and plugging all those maidenheads
and saying naught to piece of tail
who think they are your Holy Grail!
Perhaps, while giving them your ounce of flesh
you might consider
do they really know
do you really know
what you really want
from them (those empty burlaps bags)
or me
your purse of silk?
I don't believe I'm not enough!
I am not easy! Nor am I rough!
When lights are out prone in the dark,
can you still tell bluebird from lark,
my legs pressed tight to leave their mark,
my skin like satin, hers like bark?
I use no scents, no greasy base,
no funny ribbons, frilly lace,
when I spread out to lick your face
from breathless where you put your face.
And since, dear love, let's make a date–
you still have time to love – or hate –
we naked both, I'll hold you straight
and while you writhe a while: WAIT!
Was there something else to do?
Is it me?
Or was it you?
You said you needed time to think!
Go ahead.
I'll get my glass of milk to drink.
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 477 times
Written on 2007-04-07 at 00:57
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